


Evil Spirits

by edna_blackadder



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-24
Updated: 2008-12-24
Packaged: 2017-12-07 08:14:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/746312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edna_blackadder/pseuds/edna_blackadder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Word reaches Heaven that the villagers of Hogsmeade are being visited by evil spirits, but Crowley denies involvement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Evil Spirits

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for littlewolfstar for go_exchange 2008. Thanks to sarcasticsra for the beta.

Crowley was confused. He was also cold, and between the two, not in the best of moods and quite eager to sit down inside the pub, if only he could find it. Hogsmeade appeared to have changed considerably since his last visit, approximately thirty years ago. He shivered as he wandered the streets. A cold-blooded serpent, he really should have worn a cloak…but when it came to style, wizards were even farther behind the times than Aziraphale, and he wasn’t having any part of it.

Aziraphale. His enemy, his friend and, at present, the reason he was confused. He had no idea why the angel had asked to meet him here. He generally avoided it, and as far as he knew, so did Aziraphale, probably for the same reason. Though he wasn’t about to admit it, wizards freaked him out. Quite apart from their frankly painful attire, he found it much more difficult to make their lives miserable because they could unleash their own brand of superhuman power and fight back, even if they didn’t always know that was what they were doing. It was unsettling, and, whispered a part of his brain he tried his best to shut out, unfair, both to him and to their fellow, non-magical humans.

It was then that Crowley found the place, hidden away and starkly unchanged, dank and dark as ever. The Hog’s Head. It might have been his kind of place, several centuries ago, but it had never really been Aziraphale’s. Which only made him more confused. Crowley hurried inside, his teeth chattering, and ordered mulled wine, served in what seconds ago had been a very dirty glass by a surly wizard he could’ve sworn was the exact same one as last time, then sat down in a booth. The barman stared at Crowley as if trying to place him, but served his drink without comment.

Crowley eagerly drained the glass, which automatically refilled (something else on which the barman did not comment). Preoccupied with un-freezing his insides, Crowley failed to notice Aziraphale until the angel sat down across from him, at which he point he blessed loudly after spilling half a glass of wine all over himself. Aziraphale folded his arms indignantly, but Crowley, recovering quickly thanks to a small miracle, simply shook his head (the barman, once again, did not comment).

‘A tartan cloak?’ he managed to gasp, between laughs. ‘Is that why you wanted to meet me here? So you could show up dressed like this and not look ridiculous?’

‘Are you quite finished?’ the angel asked coldly, and Crowley, feeling a small amount of guilt he was not about to acknowledge, bit his lip, refilled his wine glass and took a long sip.

‘Thank you,’ said Aziraphale, ‘and I think you know why I asked you here.’

Crowley shook his head. ‘Nope. I really don’t. Why?’

Aziraphale sighed. ‘To thwart you, of course. Or rather, to kindly ask you to cease and desist and spare us both the hassle of thwarting. You—or your people, I suppose—have got the villagers so terrified that Up There has specifically asked me to put a stop to it.’

Crowley fixed Aziraphale with a blank stare. ‘I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.’

Aziraphale shook his head indulgently. ‘Crowley, it’s me. When Heaven is flooded with reports of evil spirits, I know you’re involved somehow.’

Crowley laughed. ‘They do know who lives here, right? I mean, they do know what kind of village this is? These people don’t need my help to be visited by evil spirits. Or to think they are.’

Aziraphale frowned. ‘They’re aware, yes, but that fact doesn’t seem to have reassured these people. They believe they’re being haunted. And if you’re not behind it—’

‘I’m not,’ Crowley said firmly. ‘I haven’t been here in thirty years. They’re not worth my time to torment; they can just undo whatever I’ve done with some weird nonsense words—’

‘Mostly Latin-based,’ Aziraphale supplied. ‘Though I hear they’re becoming more versatile.’

Crowley shrugged. ‘Doesn’t matter. It takes the fun out of it. And tempting them is just dangerous. Remember when Ligur tempted that blond German one?’

At that, there was the sound of breaking glass from the bar. Aziraphale shuddered. ‘All too well. I almost thought the End had come already.’

‘Get yourself a drink,’ Crowley advised. ‘As long as we’re here.’

Aziraphale nodded and wordlessly made his way over to the bar, returning a few moments later with his own glass of wine. Feeling light-headed, he decided to let the angel catch up for a while and leaned back, taking in the less-than-pleasant surroundings. He was startled when, almost immediately, the door burst open and four boys burst inside, two of them yelling loudly.

‘Honestly, Prongs, did you have to say that? How long before we can go back there, d’you think?’

‘Aw, c’mon, Padfoot, it was worth it to make Evans jealous!’

‘Please, you could’ve just kissed Wormtail on the cheek—’

‘¬—and have him wet himself in public? I’d never do that to a friend!’

‘This place is ghastly; it reminds me of home—’

‘Ahem,’ the barman interrupted, and the boys shut up at once.

‘I’ll have a Firewhisky,’ volunteered the second speaker.

‘We’ll have four Butterbeers,’ said a third voice, calmly. ‘She’s not here, Prongs, there’s no need to pretend you can handle Firewhisky.’

‘Mulled mead, then. One mulled mead and three Butterbeers.’

‘Butterbeer?’ Aziraphale murmured quizzically.

Crowley shrugged. ‘One of their drinks, I guess.’ The drinks were another thing Crowley had never particularly liked about the wizarding world. They tended to be too sweet and designed for drinking by a fire—not exactly Crowley’s scene. Which reminded him that this bar really wasn’t his scene either and nor was this village, regardless of what Heaven seemed to think. The sudden appearance of a group of loud teenagers was officially the last straw, and Crowley stood up. Unfortunately, in remembering these things he managed to forget that he was not exactly sober, and he tripped over the table leg.

Aziraphale stood up immediately and bent to assist a disgruntled Crowley, who accepted his proffered hand. ‘You might consider sobering up, my dear,’ he said quietly, after Crowley had staggered to his feet.

Wincing, Crowley did so. ‘As I was going to say, I’ve about had enough of this place. If there’s nothing else you needed to tell me—’

‘Well,’ said Aziraphale cautiously, ‘there’s no more official business, but as long as we’re both here, I had hoped we might spend some time catching up. I haven’t seen you in ages.’

Crowley nodded absently, momentarily distracted by the memory of when he had last seen Aziraphale. It wasn’t something he wanted to think about, and he’d figured it must have officially blown over after Aziraphale had told him he wanted to meet him here. But it had definitely caused him to avoid the angel on purpose for a while, and he knew that he himself had been similarly avoided.

Crowley had repeatedly told himself that it meant nothing. Surely lots of people got drunk with their arch-rivals and woke up sprawled very comfortably across said rivals’ chests, and it always meant nothing, right?

Lots of people might. Lots of celestial entities certainly didn’t. But what made it even more embarrassing was that Crowley knew Aziraphale didn’t sleep, meaning he had simply lain on the sofa tolerating Crowley’s weight until the demon deigned to wake up. When he had done, he had swiftly made an exit, ignoring Aziraphale’s half-hearted protests. From then on, silence on both sides until the angel’s unexpected phone call asking to meet him in Hogsmeade. And…their conversation had been pleasant so far, even though the venue was less than ideal.

‘All right. I guess you have to stay here and keep an eye out for evil spirits?’

‘I could really use your company. Besides, wouldn’t you like to know if someone’s encroaching on your territory?’

Crowley snorted. ‘This’—he made a sweeping gesture towards the door—‘is hardly my territory. Do you think we could find somewhere else to wait around?’

Aziraphale nodded. He left some oddly shaped coins on the table, and while Crowley had never been entirely clear on the wizarding monetary system, he was fairly certain that the angel had just paid for his miracled refills. Rolling his eyes, he headed to the door, shortly followed by Aziraphale.

*

‘Earth to Moony,’ Sirius said exasperatedly, waving a hand in front of Remus’ face. ‘I just asked if you wanted another drink, twice. What’s going on?’

‘Sorry,’ Remus replied, ‘but did you notice those two blokes? The ones who just left?’

‘What about them?’

‘One of them was wearing Muggle clothes and sunglasses. I know this place is known for its strange clientele, but that’s just odd, don’t you think?’

‘You’re right,’ James said thoughtfully. ‘I knew there was something odd about them. That, and the fact that the other one was head-to-toe in tartan. Who’d be caught dead in that?’

‘Maybe Snivellus?’ Peter piped up, his face taken over by the same nervous, hopeful expression it always wore when he spoke directly to James.

James smirked, and Peter blushed scarlet. ‘There’s an idea,’ he muttered. ‘Maybe when we get back tomorrow. But for now I want to know what’s up with those two. Moony’s right. They’re dodgy. Not regular Hog’s Head dodgy, either.’

‘Reckon we should follow them?’ Sirius asked eagerly. ‘They probably haven’t got far, and we’ve got some time before the full moon—’

‘We also have essays to finish,’ Remus interrupted.

‘Oh, c’mon, Moony,’ Sirius said, shaking his head. He leaned across the table so that their faces were inches apart. ‘You noticed them in the first place. You can’t say you’re not curious. Wouldn’t you like to have some fun during daylight hours, not in savage beast form? This could get interesting.’

Remus smiled, and, visibly softening, replied, ‘Your elbow is about to knock over Wormtail’s Butterbeer.’

Sirius laughed. ‘I’ll take that as a yes.’ He attempted to lean back into his seat, and in so doing did knock Peter’s Butterbeer right into his lap.

‘Padfoot,’ Peter protested, hastily picking up the bottle. James lazily Vanished the liquid, and Sirius snickered as Peter beamed, but before either of them could say anything, James stood up.

‘If we don’t hurry up, they’ll be long gone. This place isn’t that far out of the way. C’mon!’

The Marauders headed out, but it seemed that the head start they’d given the two strangers had paid off for them; there was no sign of anyone as they headed back into the village.

‘Probably because it’s so cold out,’ Sirius muttered irritably, stuffing his hands into his pockets. ‘Who’d hang around in this weather?’

‘We could still go back to the castle and finish our Transfiguration essays—’ Remus started, but Sirius cut across him.

‘If you’re that concerned about homework, copy mine later. McGonagall knows you’ll be in the hospital wing tomorrow anyway. I’ll bring you some chocolate and a piece of last-minute brilliance to rip off.’

‘You know I don’t approve of copying,’ Remus said sternly, ‘but the chocolate, I humbly accept.’

‘I guess they must’ve Disapparated or something,’ James said loudly. ‘I’m freezing. What d’you say we head to the Three Broomsticks and I try sweet-talking Madam Rosmerta into letting us back in?’

‘You sweet-talking her was why she threw us out. Best let me do it…or Moony, she might have a thing for quiet ones…’

*

It was getting late, and although this pub was considerably nicer than the Hog’s Head—although rather annoyingly packed—Crowley was getting restless. He was drunker now than before, and Aziraphale was equally drunk.

‘So when do these evil sssspirits start sssshrieking?’ he asked, trying to figure out which of the two Aziraphales he was supposed to be looking at.

‘Shortly after dark, I think,’ the angel answered, slurring a little.

‘Issssn’t it a little too neat?’

‘How d’you mean?’

‘Evil spirits come to…to an empty shack in…this kind of village…every full moon? That’s like…that’s like…that’s like the fourteenth century.’

‘Yeah,’ agreed Aziraphale. ‘It does seem a bit…too perfect. Honestly, I’m not…not surprised it’s not you. Not your style, I told them.’

‘You told them that?’

‘Something like that. ’S’dark. We should sober up.’

Crowley groaned and nodded, and soon he was following Aziraphale outside. They’d passed the shack in question on the way over and let themselves in through a miraculously appearing front door. Crowley wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but he had to admit that all the battered and broken furniture had thrown off his confidence that Hell had nothing to do with this. It was the sort of pointless damage that a particularly violent demon might cause for his own amusement, and he and Aziraphale had agreed to observe from a distance.

They waited in the shadows, standing in front of a shop across the street and few doors down. All of a sudden, there was an ear-piercing howl, followed by another and another. Unconsciously, they moved closer together.

*

‘Finally,’ James muttered, as Madam Pomfrey came out of the passage. ‘I was starting to think she fell asleep in there.’

Peter laughed, then applauded as James transformed. Sirius shook his head. ‘You know you can transform, too, Wormtail,’ he said with exasperation. ‘Tone it down, would you?’

Where Prongs had stood, James reappeared. ‘Padfoot, lay off. You keep harping on Wormtail—what about you and Moony?’

Sirius’ face went red, but he managed to reply, ‘What about me and Moony?’

‘Get it together already! You’ve both been dancing around this for months, and it’s getting ridiculous. He likes you, you like him, and everyone knows, so get on with it!’

Before Sirius could say a word, James transformed, followed shortly by Peter, who rushed forwards to press the knot on the Whomping Willow trunk. Sighing loudly, Sirius transformed, and the three of them hurried into the tunnel.

They’d planned an excursion into the Forbidden Forest, but the way Padfoot was barking, Prongs was stomping and Wormtail was hiding, it was clear things had already gone awry.

*

As one, Crowley and Aziraphale slumped down the wall, landing in sitting positions. Crowley very much regretted sobering up, because this was easily the most terrified he’d been since the Spanish Inquisition. The only silver lining was that it didn’t sound like any demon or Hell-dweller he’d ever met. He whispered this to Aziraphale, who said nothing, but shifted closer.

Then it got louder. Whatever was in there had company. Crowley instinctively grabbed Aziraphale’s arm. It occurred to him that at least whatever was in there didn’t seem to be leaving. He was about to pass on that bit of encouragement when a gigantic wolf burst out of the shack and charged into the street, shortly followed by a dog and a stag.

*

At that precise moment, Padfoot and Prongs were thinking the exact same thing: How in the name of Merlin did the Shrieking Shack get a door?! As the dog seized the werewolf by its neck to pull it back, the stag spotted two human-shaped things that were definitely not supposed to be sitting feet away from them. He reared on his hindquarters and threw his head back to warn to indicate the two very edible men who looked vaguely familiar. Padfoot released Moony and Prongs charged at him, giving the dog time to race towards the two humans, who had stood up in alarm and started to run.

The dog chased them down a side street, then changed back into a handsome, if slightly dishevelled, teenaged wizard. It was only when he transformed that Sirius realised who the two would-be victims were. ‘Hey!’ he yelled. ‘Not from ’round here, are you? Are you Squibs or something?’

‘Squibs?’ The man in sunglasses gasped as he turned around. ‘Um—’

‘—no, we’re not,’ the tartan-clad one choked out. ‘But—you’re right—wer’re not from ’round here—’

‘Right,’ said Sirius quickly. ‘I’d love to stay and chat, but unfortunately there’s a werewolf on the loose, so—Obliviate!’

With a pop, he was Padfoot again, running at top speed back towards his friends and the main street.

*

If the boy had waited around, he would have been astonished to see the jet of light that had exploded from his wand abruptly fade to nothing before colliding with its intended targets. Breathless, Aziraphale lowered his outstretched hand.

‘So,’ he said, turning to Crowley, ‘first this entire village of wizards, then Up There, then you and me…all frightened out of our wits by a group of particularly ferocious young people. They’re not going to like this report, are they?’

‘They’ll take it better than Below would’ve done,’ said Crowley. ‘All the same, let’s finish this observation indoors and pissed out of our minds, shall we?’

Aziraphale nodded, and they set off towards the village, both imagining with great difficulty that the street was empty. They could hear howling in the distance, but all they saw ahead was that a light appeared to be on at the nicer of the two Hogsmeade pubs. It was considerably less crowded than it had been earlier, and while it was usually nearly closing time, tonight the barmaid just happened to be working late.

*

Ordinarily, this particular barmaid didn’t allow her customers to remain in their booth, passed out and draped over each other, long after everyone else had left, but Crowley and Aziraphale were a special case, something Crowley discovered to his horror upon waking up.

‘Hi,’ Aziraphale whispered…smiling. That was weird. ‘Crowley, wait,’ he began, as the demon attempted to disentangle himself. ‘I…I don’t mind.’

‘What?’ asked Crowley, daring to look up at him. ‘I—’

‘Oh, Crowley.’ Aziraphale shook his head. ‘My dear, there is so much you don’t understand.’ And with that, he leaned down and pressed his lips to Crowley’s.

His brain was telling him to pull away and run like hell, but Crowley did neither. Instead, he kissed back.

Customers should have been pouring in that moment, but the pub remained empty. After a moment, Aziraphale pulled away slightly. ‘Ineffable,’ he whispered.


End file.
